freewriting -

Is writing time always going to be

10 - 11 - 12 - too late?

Will it always wait for that
liminal state
between day and
delayed desire for morning?

dawn
the farthest from my eyes
my tired mind and I
gaze into darkened pooling of the
night gathering
therin we glimpse reflection
of the day
and paint with ink.

painted in ink -
an ink that comes from between the stars

and
above the lands where day is clearest

spreads the whole sun across the sky

The lunar glow is not from one radiant source

It reminds us to share
there is no glare in her light

We breathe with borrowed breath
our hands
on loan from ashes

Eyes gently receiving the light that
from one source
funds us only after first touching others

The moon reminds us of this by her example

/remember you are not the true source/

And her beauty is not diminished
And in the gathered-cloak night sky
I see the kaleidoscopic gleam
still painted with the broad-brush silver river of their time snaked 'cross the sky
of a billion distant

ancient days

soon to be eclipsed by our own

When Helios closes the door of day behind him

He opens the Sky to the hall of his brothers'

The moon
unblinded by her own
reflects it all
a luminescent cool silk sheet

upon the face of Earth